MILES DIXON 

A PLAY IN TWO ACTS 



FOUR PLAYS BY GILBERT CANNAN 

JAMES AND JOHN - - - - one act. 
MILES DIXON . ... - two acts. 
MARY'S WEDDING - - - - one act. 
A SHORT WAY WITH AUTHORS, one act. 



MILES DIXON 



A PLAY IN TWO ACTS 



BY 

GILBERT CANNAN 



Boston 
LE ROY PHILLIPS 

Publisher 



.o^ 



K^f 



.0 



All rights reserved 

Entered in the Library of Congress on July 25, 19 13 

Copyright, 1920 

Le Roy Phillips 

©C1A564900 

M}1 ■ 



Produced at the Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, 
November, 19 lo 



CHARACTERS 

John Baisbrozun - Mr. Herbert Lomas. 

Ellen Baisbrozun - Miss Irene Rooke. 

Miles Dixon - - - Mr. Milton Rosmer. 

Jan Baisbrozun - - Mr. Frank Darch. 

Janie Baisbrozun - Miss Hilda Bruce Potter. 



CHARACTERS 

John Baishrown. 
Ellen Baishrown. 
Miles Dixon. 
Jan Baishrown. 
Janie Baishrown. 

Act I. The Yard of Brimmerhead Farm at 
night. 

Act II. The Kitchen of Brimmerhead Farm. 

Twenty years elapse between the two acts. 



MILES DIXON 

Act I 

The scene is the yard of a farm. A rough waU at 
the right is broken by a gateway leading into 
a field, across the brow of which the top of^ a 
church tower is seen, and above this is the line 
of the fells. At the left is a little low house, 
two storied, with a third room buiU on to it, 
approached by a rough outside staircase. It 
is a wild night and very dark. In the window 
of the little room a light shines. The window 
is thrown open and the head of a woman is 
shown for a moment before the light is extin- 
guished. The window is shut and the key of 
the door is turned in the lock. 

There is silence for some time, and the white walls 
of the little house loom mistily through the 
darkness. . . . Presently a man comes through 
the gateway, floundering in the muck of the 
yard, and gropes his way up the staircase. 
He tries the door, and curses when he finds it 
locked. He knocks and knocks again. Then 
he comes down, strikes a match to^ look for 
pebbles on the ground, and the light is for that 
moment shown on his face. It is a dark. 



8 MILES DIXON [act 

striking face, zenith the eyes too close together, 
the lips a little too thin, the jaw a little too 
long and narrow, and the nose not quite long 
enough. He gropes about and picks up some 
pebbles, which he throws at the window of the 
little house, then waits. He stands muttering 
and cursing. He throws pebbles again at the 
window and looks round in the direction of 
the farmhouse. Over on the other side of the 
valley a light shines and then is gone. The 
clock in the church tower strikes one. 

MILES 

One . . . 

\He throws pebbles again and stands cursing. 
The window is pushed open and the 
woman appears. 

ELLEN 

Why must you come on this wild night? 

MILES 

'Tis t' wild night that t' crazy man is craziest 
and t' thing that calls to 'im calls longest 
and loudest. 

ELLEN 

And you'll not be content? 

MILES 

I'll never be content. ... To sleep cold and 
lonely out on t' fells, wet and cold under a 
wall or wet and cold in a ditch, wi' t' scent 
o' yer 'air and t' touch o' ye in my mind for 



i] MILES DIXON 9 

all t' warmth that I 'ave. ... By God! 
. . . 'Twas a bad night for me when I furst 
coom to ye. 

ELLEN 

And a bad night for me that ever I was false to 
my man and give myself to a wild tramp 
the likes o' you. . . . 

MILES 

Ha' done. . . . I've that to tell you that I cannot 
stand bawling and crying for t' folk in t' 
big 'ouse to 'ear. 

ELLEN 

'Tis late and you'd best be going away. ... I 
left t' light for ye 'till I thought ye never 
was coming. T' beasts are asleep and t' 
childer are asleep and t' town folks int' house 
are asleep. . . • Ye'd best be goin' away. 

MILES 

And where will I sleep.? 

ELLEN 

Where ye've slept these years since the curse 
came on ye and there was never a 'ouse int' 
dale wouid let ye bide in it. . . . Ye'd best 
be goin', for I must be early stirrin' and 
there's no knowin' . . . 

MILES 

And where will I sleep, I say.? 



10 MILES DIXON [act 

ELLEN 

Where yeVe slept these long years since yer ain 
kin turned from ye . . . wet and cold, as 
ye say, under a wall, or wet and cold in a 
ditch, or crept to a byre for warmth or curled 
up in t' 'ay in a barn, to steal away in t' 
dawn like t' wild lone thing that ye are. 
... It were best ye'd drowned yerself in t' 
beck before ever ye coom creepin' round wi' 
yer light love words and yer talk o' stars and 
yer creepin' soft ways that brought me to t' 
madness that was in me. . . . 

MILES 

Let me in to ye. 

ELLEN 

Ye'd best be goin' for t' bad thing that ye are 
and t' light thing ye've made me be. . . . 
Ye're t' waste o' t' world, ye are, and I'll 
never a word from ye. . . . 

MILES 

I've a mind to go from t' fells. I've a mind to 
sleep no more on t' fells but to go where 
there's lights an' warm 'ouses, where there's 
rich folk and gay folk and folk that 'ave 
never a care in t' world for t' strong 'ouses 
they live in and t' soft raim.ent they wear 
and t' pretty gems and t' gold things and 
their pockets full and full o' money, and 
their cellars all filled wi' bags o' gold. . . . 
I've a mind to go where there's never a 'ill 



i] MILES DIXON II 

and love words is as easy as scything thistles 
and light as thistledown on t' air. I've a 
mind to leave ye for t' drab that ye are and 
go where t' scent o' yer 'air will 'aunt me 
no more, and I'll clean forget t' touch o' ye, 
and clean forget t' bad day when I took ye 
and lost my peace and t' light 'eart that I 
'ad. I've a mind to go as other men 'ave 
gone to make a fortin' and a great name, 
and not to stay where t' name o' me stinks 
and is a whispered thing, though there was 
never a 'armful thing that I did. 

ELLEN 

An' if ye will not make yer fortin', and if in all t' 
world yer name stinks and is whispered for 
an un'oly thing .^ 

MILES 

Then I'll go to t' sea and swim out into it 'till 
I can swim no more . . . and I'll stand 
wi' t' other dead men at bottom o' t' sea 
and talk to 'em o' t' rottenness o' women, 
for 'tis all o' that that dead men talk. 

ELLEN 

And 'tis o' t' cruelty and savagery and great 
beastliness o' men that dead women tell, 
and 'tis you'll be in t' mouths o' all on us for 
t' worst beast o' them all and for t' black 
'ate that ye brought into t' 'earts o' us, that 
'ad never a true word on your lips nor a true 
thought in your 'ead nor a true beat o' t' 



12 MILES DIXON [act 

'eart for a one of us. . . . An' what was 
given ye gladly ye spoiled in t' takin'. . . . 
You to talk o' losin' your peace and t' 
lightness o' 'eart that ye 'ad! . . . When ye 
come lightly and ye go lightly and 'tis all to 
ye like eatin' till ye be full or drinkin' till 
there's no thirst left in ye . . . and not one 
o' us is more to ye than another. . . . 

MILES 

Ye lie an' ye lie an' ye know that ye lie, for 
. there's none but you . . . 

ELLEN 

'Ere. . . . But ower t' fells there's this and that 
and t'other one, an' always a new one comin' 
up t' road and you leapin' down t' fells to 
meet 'er. 

MILES 

'Tis another world ower t' fells and me another 
man that ye take no count on and never will 
know. 

ELLEN 

And that's t' badness in ye. . . . Ye'd best be 
goin'. 

MILES 

And if I go 'twill be never to come to ye again 
. . . and me come down fro' t' fells to tell 
ye that I was goin' out into t' world away 
fro' t' fells and t' madness in 'em and to say 
would ye come wi' me to keep t' wind o' t' 
fells beatin' in my face and to keep t' sights 



i] MILES DIXON 13 

and scents and sounds wl' me in all t' places 
where we may come. . . . 

ELLEN 

For t' likes o' you to leave my man and t' fine 
'ouse 'e gives me and t' childer and go out 
wi' ye, wi' never a stick nor stock between 
us, and never a 'ouse to live in and wander 
ower t' cold world. . . . Fine under t' 
stars on summer nights. . . . Oh, ye'd best 
be goin'. . . . 

MILES 

And you that put t' light in yer window for to 
tell me yer man was gone to t' town, ye're 
now for tellin' me to be gone.^ 



'Twas to tell ye that that I brought ye' ere wi' t' 
light i' my window. . . . I've a mind to get 
back to t' woman that I was and forget that 
ever you coom slinkin' to destroy t' good 
life that I 'ad. 

MILES 

And ye'll not let me go so lightly wi' never a 
kiss o' yer lips an' never a touch o' yer 'ands. 

ELLEN 

Ye came lightly and lightly ye can go, and I'll 

not 'ave a kiss o' yer lips and I'll forget that 

ever there was such a thing as you. . . . 

[Miles has been standing immediately under 

the window, and they have been up to now 



14 MILES DIXON [act 

talking in lozv voices so as not to be heard 
in the house on the other side of the yard. 
Miles springs back now and raises his 
voice. 

MILES 

Then I'll not go till all t' folk in t' dale know ye 
for t' woman that ye are, for t' rotten, lying 
thing that ye are; an' 'tis you, when I'm 
striding ower t' world, '11 be out there on t' 
fells, sleepin' wet and cold under a wall or 
wet and cold in a ditch an' alone ... an' 
me stridin' ower t' world. . . . An' ye'll 
never forget. . . . 

ELLEN 

Go. [She shuts the windozv. 

MILES 

Huh! ... Ye trull. . . . And you, when yer 
man's in t' town, to set light to draw t' 
likes o' me to beat Hke a moth again t' panes 
o' yer window, and would draw me into t' 
flames 'till my wings be scorched and me fall 
broken to t' ground. . . . I'll come to ye. 

[He runs up the stairs and tries the latch, but 
finds it fast. He shakes the door furi- 
ously. His tone changes. 

MILES 

'Tis foolishness that I said. ... D' ye 'ear.? 
'Tis foolishness an' all that cooms fro' 
sittin' alone on t' fells wi' t' thoughts in me 



MILES DIXON IS 

windin' about and about, and never a 
thought but comes back to you and t' 
wonder o' you. [He listens.] For there 
was never t' Hke o' you since t' world began, 
and you t' lovely mate for me, that, for all 
that my name stinks and is a whispered 
thing, am a larger man and a freer man and 
a braver man and a properer man than any 
that goes sellin' theirselves for t' little livin' 
they need, an' toilin' and moilin' like slaves 
for t' small livin' that is all that t' masters 
'11 give em up yon int' quarry and down yon 
in t' fields. . . . [He listens.] D' ye 'ear.? 
'Tis foolishness that I said and all that 
cooms to a man fro' t' great misery o' 
lovin' a woman that 'e canna take and show 
to t' world for t' wonderful mate that she is. 
. . . 'Tis foolishness that I said for t' 
black jealousy that comes ower me in t* 
long hours when I sit out yon and think o' 
you livin' along o' t' fools that 'ave never an 
eye for t' sights o' t' world and never an ear 
for t' sounds . . . and so thick and muddy 
as they are, can keep and 'old ye when ye 
should be wi' me, lovin' me and t' world so's 
ye can 'ardly bear it. . . . [He listens 
again.] Ayl Ye 'ear me, ye 'ear me, and 
fear makes ye as still as a mouse. . . . 'Tis 
a lonely life I live, but better to live like 
that, kin and comrade wi' t' stars, and t* 
fells, and t' runnin' streams, than among 
men that are slaves an' starved and lonely 



i6 MILES DIXON [act 

each one of 'em for t' fear that is in them. 
. . . And 'tis t' 'ardness o' thinkin' o' you, 
so wonderful as you be, livin' wi' t' slaves 
and t' small things when there's no treasure 
in t' world that ye might not come by if 
ye'd come to t' wild 'awks life wi' me. . . . 
An' you t' most soft and lovely thing in t' 
world. . . . You're beautiful and live wi' 
men that 'ave never an eye among 'em to 
see ye. . . . Grubbin', tunnellin' moles they 
be. . . . Bat-blind. . . . And there's only 
me to see t' wonder o' ye. [john baisbrown 
appears in the gateway, sees miles and 
stands stock still.] Open to me ... I can 
'ear ye . . . and you 'ungry for every word 
that comes fro' my lips. . . . 'Tis known 
that I canna give ye a fine 'ouse and never 
a fine dress, but I can take a great 'ill in t' 
'ollow o' my 'and and give it you, and I can 
reach up and pluck a star out o' 'eaven for 
to shine in yer 'air, and I can give yer a 
river to sing to ye as never man nor woman 
can sing o' t' wonder o' t' world . . . and I 
can give ye sights to see and sounds to 'ear 
that else 'Id be 'idden from ye all yer days. 
. . . Let me come to ye. . . . 'Tis dark 
and never a moon and 'ardly a star, but I 
can make t' night so light as ever t' crawling 
men make dark the day. . . . 

[The key turns in the door, miles clicks the 
latch and thrusts the door open, when 
JOHN, without moving, speaks. 



i] MILES DIXON 17. 

JOHN 

Is it you, Miles Dixon? [miles snaps the door 
to and turns. He stands with never a word, 
peering through the darkness^ Is it you. 
Miles Dixon? and is it so ye come crawlin 
in t' dead o' night like a rat for to suck the 
eggs o' my 'ens? 

MILES 

Is it you, John Baisbrown? 

JOHN 

Come down 'ere an' let me set my fingers to yer 
throat an' choke t' rotten life out o ye^ ... 
Or will ye wait while I turn my back and skip 
an' run away to yer 'ole in t' fells and never 
let me set eyes on ye more. • • • 

MILES 

And you, John Baisbrown? ... Is it you stand- 
in' there in t' dark so's I can see only t 
great ugly shape of ye? 

JOHN 

Ay. 

MILES 

You and me and 'er was schooled together, John 
Baisbrown, an' d'ye mind ow I beat t 
bloody nose on ye till ye ran owlm ; and 
d'ye mind 'ow I was ever t' first and ye come 
lumberin' be'ind? 

[baisbrown moves heavily forward. 



i8 MILES DIXON [act 

JOHN 

Will ye come down, ye gowk, or will I knock ye 
down ? 

MILES 

Ye'll stand there and we'll talk peaceable 'ere in 
the dark, you standin' there in t' muck an' 
me wi' my feet at t' height o' yer 'ead. 

JOHN 

Come down. 

MILES 

Ye'll stand there and ye'll learn o' t' way o' a 
man wi' a woman what ye shut yer eyes to 
an' took for a sinful thing or ye'd never be 
standin' now, you in t' muck and me wi' my 
feet at t' height o' yer 'ead . . . and 'er a 
cowering be'ind t' door fer to 'ear what we 
say and to 'ear what ye do to me. . . . 
What will ye do, John Baisbrown? 

JOHN 

For every word that ye say I'll break a bone in 
your body, and for t' while that ye keep me 
standin' 'ere in t' muck an' cold o' t' yard 
I'll pitch ye to 'ouse wi' t' swine in whose 
likeness you're made. 

MILES 

And what will ye do to t' woman .^ 

JOHN 

There's you to be broken first, and there's no 
other thought in me. 



i] MILES DIXON 19 

MILES 

I canna see ye right, but is yer great fingers 
twitchin' to be at my throat, and is yer 
breast 'ot in yer, and yer mouth dry, and a 
catch in yer throat? . . . I've more words 
than ye can reckon, and I've a mind that ye 
should learn t' way of a man wi' a woman, 
and 'er listenin' be'ind t' crack o' t' door o' 
a woman's way wi' a man . . . for 'tis that 
ye learn out on t' fells when ye're that strong 
ye can step fro' one 'ill-top to another and 
devil a care for t' dale beneath, and you look 
down and see a maggoty lot o' little black 
things scrattin' t' earth and breakin' t' 
earth and thinkin' theirselves mighty fine, 
and a maggoty lot o' Httle black things that 
creep about wi' their eyes down to t' earth, 
scared and feared, feared o' t' sun and t' 
wind and t' rain and most feared o' their- 
selves and their kind, like it's you's feared 
on me now, ye maggoty little black thing 
that I look down on wi' my feet at t' height 
o' yer 'ead, as I looked down on ye from 
t' top o' t' fells and seed ye scrattin' t' 
earth and breakin' t' earth for t' lovely 
thing that ye'U never find there ... for 
while ye run fro' sun and wind an' rain ye 
never will find it. . . . 'Tis a four-fold 
thing and there's no fear in it. . . . And 
you's afeard. 

JOHN 

You've talked enough and too much. 



20 MILES DIXON [act 

MILES 

And when yeVe broke t' bones i' my body what 
will ye do to t' woman? 

JOHN 

'Twill be enough for her to know what I does to 
you. 

MILES 

Ye're not so blind . . . and ye're not so far fro' 
bein' a man and ye're not so far fro' lovin' t' 
woman that ye know t' way to 'urt 'er. . , . 

JOHN 

It's you that 'ave come between me and 'er and 
et's you that I'll break in my 'ands like a 
carrot. 

MILES 

'Tis a fine lad to be broke in two by a strong man 
as thinks there's law on his side. . . . But 
for all that you're a poor fool, John Bais- 
brown, for ye never 'ave been together, you 
and 'er that's cowerin' be'ind t' door, else 
not me or any other thing could h' come 
between ye, and so 'tis you that is t' bad 
man and t' wicked man to take t' woman 
and come between 'er and t' brave things o' 
t' world. And 'twas a foolish thing, for 'tis 
what never a man can do to come between 
a woman and t' brave things o' t' world; 
you's not t' first man to try it and you's 
surely not t' last man to fail . . . and by 
many and many you's not t' first to set 



I] MILES DIXON 21 

yourself above a woman, and by many and 
many more you's not t' last man to find 
out t' fraud o' yerself. . • • There's more 
words that I 'ave for ye, but 'appen that s 
enough to stick i' yer gizzard. 

JOHN 

Come down 'ere. 

MILES 

And you wi' a great stick in yer 'and.? I'll not. 
[jOHN throws his stick away. 

JOHN 

Now will ye come? 

MILES 

And if I come down will ye keep yer 'ands to 
yerself.? ... For I've a mind to climb to 
111 Bell and see t' dawn comin' up through t' 
mists and to stand wi' t' cold wind blawin'^ 
through and through me and blawm' all t 
dirtiness o' you and t' likes o' you out o' me. 

JOHN 

Heh! And will ye take t' woman wi' ye to be 
blawn through and through and t' dirtiness 
blawn oot o' 'er? 

MILES 

I'll not. For she's that weak wi' bearin' wi' you 
I'd 'ave to carry 'er likely, and there's no 
wind fro' t' four quarters could blaw^ t' 
dirtiness o' you and t' likes o' you oot o' 'er. 



22 MILES DIXON [act 

JOHN 

'Tis moonspun madness ye 'ave in yer 'ead, and 
to 'it ye would be like smashing yer fist in 
a babby's face. ... Ye can go. 

[miles runs lightly down the stairs. 



And if I go, what will ye do to the woman now 
that she'll not 'ear what ye've done to me.'* 

JOHN 

She'll 'ave what she's always 'ad and no more. 

[miles suddenly strikes a match and holds it 
wp to John's /<3r^ until it burns his fingers, 
when he drops it with an oath. 

MILES 

'Tis a face like a great 'am wi' little black buttons 
in it for eyes. 'Tis a man's face and belongs 
to what in this world, God save us, is called 
a man. . . . We'll both be dead in the wink 
of an eye and the world none the wiser for 
the two of us, and she there listenin' be'ind 
t' door, if she be livin', well quit o' t' two of 
us. [A light appears in the woman^s window.] 
Whoosht! 

[The door is opened slowly and ellen 
appears holding a lantern high over her 
head. She has dressed herself hastily in 
bodice and skirt and has her hair loose. 
She stands looking down at the two men. 



i] MILES DIXON 23 

MILES 

She's beautiful. . . . T' dawn comin' up through 
t' mists. 

ELLEN 

Is it you, John, standing there wi' that waste o' 
t' world.? 

JOHN 

Are ye come for to go out to live in t' wide cold 
world an' to 'ave done wi' takin' 'im to my 
bed.? 

ELLEN 

I 'ave prayed for this night, John, an' every 
night that 'e's come to me and me turned 
soft in my bones and weak to let 'im come, 
I've prayed for you to come and set 'ands 
on 'im and break t' rotten life in 'im. . , . 
An' I've prayed for strength to tell ye so's ye 
might keep 'im away. . . . An' now that 
ye've come will ye let 'im go, and are you 
that's a man and strong as soft wi' 'im as 
me that's a woman.? 

MILES 

Ye lie and ye lie and ye know that ye lie! 

ELLEN 

Take 'im for that, John, take 'im and do as ye 
said, and for every word that 'e's said to ye 
break a bone in 'is body, and for those that 
'e's said to me take 'im and whip the life 
out o' 'im. 



24 MILES DIXON [act i] 

MILES 

She's t' fit mate for you, John Balsbrown, you 
wi' the lies o' yer deeds, and 'er wl' the lies 
on 'er lips. And when I'm gone — for I'm 
goin' out into t' world to make a fortin' and 
a great name where there's rich folk and gay 
folk and folk that 'ave never a care in t' 
world — when I'm gone ye'U sit and sit 
and watch each other wi' strange eyes and 
ye'U wonder and wonder what there is of 
truth in each other, and never a moment 
will she forget and never a moment will ye 
be rid o' t' thing that was between ye before 
ever I come — t' wall o' lies; and ye'U sit 
and sit until ye're dead, and ye'U both be 
glad when it comes for t' long, long thing 
ye've made o' yer lives. . . . T' life I live 
is fit for t' likes o' me, and t' life you live is 
fit for t' likes o' you. . . . I've a mind to 
climb to 111 Bell to see t' dawn comin' up 
through t' mists, and fro' there I'll leap to 
t' world and go stridin' over it 'till I be 
weary, and then I'll swim out to sea until 
I can swim no more. . . . And God blast 
the souls o' the two of ye. [The clock in the 
church tower strikes again.] 'Alf past one. 
[He turns and goes off through the gate at a 
run. ELLEN takes up her lantern and 
goes into her room. She leaves the door 
open, and john moves towards the stairs. 

CURTAIN 



MILES DIXON 25 



Act II 

The scene is the kitchen of the farm, twenty years 
later. In the back wall is a window looking 
out on to the yard and across at the little house. 
In the left wall is a huge fireplace, over which 
hangs a stewpan in which is a mess of fruit. 
ELLEN BAiSBROWN is Stirring with a great 
wooden spoon. On the table in the centre of 
the room are piles of fruit — damsons and 
plums. In the right wall is a press built into 
the wall and carved. 

It is midday. 

ELLEN has lost her looks. She is just a comely, 
buxom farm-woman set on the business of the 
moment, janie, her daughter, a girl of twenty- 
three and as beautiful as her mother was, is 
picking over the fruit, settifig aside that which 
is fit for preserving and dropping the bruised 
and the rotten into a basket at her feet. 

JANIE 

'Tis a grand year for fruit. 

ELLEN 

And a bad year for us. 

JANIE 

I don't know what's come to our Jan sin' feyther 
died. . . . 'E never was afraid o' feyther for 



26 MILES DIXON [act 

all t' fights and quarrellin' they 'ad used to 
'ave, an' feyther was a strong man. [ellen 
makes no reply,] 'E was a strong man, 
feyther? 

ELLEN 

'E was a hig man, an' a broad man, an' there's 
no knowing what 'e was and what 'e was 
not, same as there's never any knowin' 
what any critter is and is not. 

JANIE 

I don't know what's coom to our Jan. 'E's like 
he saw new things and 'card new things 
and smelled new things and 'is 'ead all 
filled wi' strangeness. . . . Was there ever 
a man called Miles Dixon, moother.^ 

[ellen drops her spoon and turns for a 
moment to janie, then turns away again 
and goes on with her work. 

ELLEN 

Who's been tellin' you them fairy-tales.? An' 
what did they tell ye.? 

JANIE 

Was there ever such a man, moother.? 

ELLEN 

There was, but 'e's gone out into t' world long 
since and likely 'e's dead. 

JANIE 

It's Jan is full o' 'im and strange tales. . . . Old 
Peter Foot o' Kirkstone's been a tellin', 



ii] MILES DIXON 27 

and that's where our Jan goes to in t' days 
when we never sees him fro' dawn to dusk; 
and 'e cooms to me in my bed and sits and 
tells o' t' wunnerful man that 'e was. . . . 
'E could run an 'undred miles in a day and 
there wasn't a river 'e couldn't leap, and 'e 
could wrestle wi' ten men all at once, and 
'e could swim like a fish under water, an' 'e 
could talk wi' birds and beasts; an' 'e got 
weary o' t' fells for they werena' big enough 
for 'im, and 'e went out into t' world, and 
when 'e went there was sick 'earts in t' 
women, and there was an 'undred and fifty 
went out into t' world to look for 'im, and 
it's such a man that our Jan would be. . . . 
Was there ever such a man.? 

ELLEN 

There was such a man, and 'e was that bad there 
was never a 'ouse int' dale would let 'im 
bide in 't, and 'e lived out on t' fells, wet 
and cold under a wall and wet and cold in 
a ditch. . . . But I never 'eard tell of any 
woman that 'e 'ad. 

JANIE 

And is it long ago since 'e lived out on t' fells.? 

ELLEN 

'E was schooled wi' yer feyther and me. And 
'tis true that 'e went out into t' world, but 
I never 'eard tell o' a 'eart that was sick for 
'im or o' women that went out into t' world 
to look for 'im. 



28 MILES DIXON [act 

JANIE 

Jan says 'e was like a buzzard 'awk, and Jan 
says that 'e '11 be such a man, and 'tis for 
that that our Jan's out and away and leavin' 
you and me to do all t' work, [ellen 
empties pan and janie brings a fresh lot of 
fruit for her to boil.] There was a strange 
man coom last night, moother. 

ELLEN 

A strange man? 

JANIE 

I was in my little room yonder and t' light set in 
t' window, and there coom pebbles a' 
thrawed oop. 

ELLEN 

What like o' man? 

JANIE 

A weary thin man. . . . And 'e said, " Is it you?" 
And I said, " Yes, it's me." And 'e said, 
"And John Baisbrown?" . . . And I said, 
" John Baisbrown's dead." 

ELLEN 

And . . . ? 

JANIE 

What is it, moother? 

ELLEN 

And what did 'e say else? 



ii] MILES DIXON 29 

JANIE 

He stood like a gowk, an' in a soft silly voice 'e 
said: " T' scent o' yer 'air and t' touch o' 
ye 'as been wi' me ower all t' world, and 
there's never t' like o' you not east nor west 
nor north nor south," 

ELLEN 

What like o' man was 'e? 

JANIE 

Just a thin scarecrow wi' a bowed back and rags 
on 'im what 'ardly would 'old together. 
And 'e said: " For all t' brave sounds o' t' 
world there was ever t' sound o' yer voice 
ringin' in my ears." 

ELLEN 

An' you? 

JANIE 

I said, *' Yer daft," and banged to t' window, 
and then 'e coom an' 'e talked through t' 
door silly like, such soft talk fro' such an 
owd man, till I laughed out loud at 'im and 
'e went away. 

ELLEN 

And ye was not afeard.^ 

JANIE 

What call 'ad I to be afeard, wi' t' door locked.? 
'E was just a tramp like they often cooms 
. . . on'y not all on 'em is so daft. ... I 
just laughed, for 'tis funny to 'ear such 



30 MILES DIXON [act 

words comin' up in an owd weary voice. 
..." You and t' scent o' yer 'air. ..." 
And yet there's never a lad in t' dale could 
'av said such words, 'cept only it mught be 
our Jan. . . . And I couldn't 'elp thinkin' 
'ow feyther would a gurned at such a man, 
same as he gurned at our Jan for bein' 
aye wi' t' lasses, though there's never a lad 
in all t' dale that our Jan couldn't thraw in 
t' wink o' an eye. . . . But feyther 'e 'ad a 
great scorn o' women, 'im bein' such a 
strong man. 

ELLEN 

There's t' lads' dinners to be took down to croft. 
[jAN comes up through the yard. He draws 
a live rabbit from his pocket.] Are ye come 
fro' t' croft, Jan.? 

JAN 

Me.f* . . . Naw. . . . That's what I been a-doin' 
of. . . . Caught 'im I did wi' my two 'ands 
an' nowt else. Comin' down Wansfell out 
o' t' bracken 'e runs and me after 'im; this 
way and that 'e turns until I took a great 
leap on to 'im like a buzzard 'awk. . . . 
And you'd 'ave me stoopin' and crampin' 
wi' a scythe or a rake. . . . Show me 
another can do that! . . . You got my 
broothers slavin' like cattle, an' I say 'tis 
not good enough for t' likes o' me. 

ELLEN 

Will ye take an' kill itf 



ii] MILES DIXON 31 

JAN 

Kill it? . . . I'll let it free. . . . 'Tis only to 
show what I can do, when my broothers be 
that slow they'd likely never set 'ands to a 
urchin. . . . Take 'un wi' ye, Janie, and 
set 'un free, [janie takes the dinner-cans on 
one arm, holds the rabbit by the ears, and goes 
out] I'm goin\ moother. 

ELLEN 

Where will ye go? 

JAN 

I been up beck to where 'e cooms bubbling out o' 
t' ground, and I've been down beck to where 
'e goes into t' lake and out o' t' lake and 
down past towns and cities to t' sea. And I 
be like beck, moother. I be like sprung out 
o' t' ground and I must go out and out 
growin' wider and wider, and I be grown so 
wide that there be no room for my body 
between Wansfell and 111 Bell. ... D' ye 
not see 'ow big I be grown? ... I feel that 
strong that if ye set me to t' ploughin' I'd 
'ave t' old field turned and turned too deep 
wi' just t' touch o' my 'and, and if ye set 
me to t' reapin' I'd swing t' scythe so's all 
t' corn 'd be scattered to t' winds and t' 
point o' t' scythe 'd stick into 111 Bell and 
coom through and out into Yorkshire. . . . 
You got my broothers and my sister, and 
what's for them is not for me, so gi' me your 
blessing an' a pocketful o' money and I'll 



32 MILES DIXON [act 

go out into t' world an' make a fortin' and 
a great name . . . an' a fine lady mebbe 
for a wife. . . . 

ELLEN 

A fortin' and a great name an' a fine lady mebbe 
for a wife! . . . What's coom t' ye, Jan? 

JAN 

I've a mind to be a man, moother, and not just 
a ox or a ass or any poor beast that works in 
t' fields, and not to be t' sort o' man that my 
feyther was, that 'ad no eye for t' sights o' 
t' world and no eye for its loveliness, but 
only for crops and crops, and 'ad no love 
for t' earth but only for t' money 'e could 
make out o' 'er. . . . You got two sons t' 
like o' feyther and one that never will be. 

ELLEN 

[Facing him suddenly.] I got two sons dear to 
me as their feyther was, and one that's 
dearer to me than all t' world; two that's 
good sons to me and one that I love so 
dearly that t' greatest joy I 'ave in 'im is a 
pain, and I'm glad o' t' pain and the sorrow 
that 'e brings me, as I was glad o' t' pain 
and sorrow in t' beginning. 

JAN 

That's strange. 

ELLEN 

And if you go 'twill be a lonesome life for me, for 
there's only you that my eyes love to see. 



ii] MILES DIXON 33 

JAN 

But there's two sons that's as dear to you as 
my feyther was. 

ELLEN 

And that's nothin' at all. . . . For it's true that 
'e 'ad no eyes for t' sights o' t' world and no 
eye for its loveliness, and 'e never 'ad no 
eye for t' loveliness o' me, and 'e 'ated you 
that I loved most dearly. . . . 

JAN 

That's strange . . . and 'tis true that 'e 'ated 
me, and true that I 'ated the sight o' 'im. 
. . . And those two that's like 'im 'ate me, 
and I 'ate them, and it 'as always been you 
and me against t' rest o' 'em. . . . And 'tis 
that 'as made me so strong. . . . There's 
three o' them against one o' me, and though 
I could take and crush t' three on 'em, there 
is that strength in a man that makes 'im 
gentle and soft. And It's t' weak men 
wantin' t' strength they never can 'ave that 
is so 'arsh and cruel, and 'tis t' strength in 
women like you, moother, that makes me 
so gentle and soft. . . . 



And if ye'd bide . . . 

JAN 

If ye took beck and tried to make 'im live In a 
bucket ye'd not be tryin' a more foolish 



34 MILES DIXON [act 

thing than to make me live 'ere on t' farm 
like any other one in t' dale. . . . Give me 
your blessing, moother, and a pocketful of 
money, and let me go out into t' world for 
to see its wonders and it to see me for t' 
wunnerful man that I am. 

[ellen goes to the press, and after groping 

in a jar corner of it produces an old Toby 

jug, jrom which she brings a stocking. 

She pours out the contents oj it on the 

table. 

JAN 

I'll catch a fine lady Hke I caught lile rabbit, an' 
. . . an' . . . an' I'll not let 'er go free. . . . 
And I'll give 'er all t' wonder o' t' world, 
and all t' lovely things ye can find for t' 
seekin' and cannot come by other ways. 
. . . For I'm wise, and I'm strong, and I'm 
swift, and I'm sure. 

ELLEN 

There's a fourth o' t' savings that yer feyther 
made. 

JAN 

There was a man like me in t' dale once, moother, 
and 'e went out into t' world, and there 
was never t' likes o' 'im again till me. . . . 

ELLEN 

And 'im dead, likely. . . . 'E never coom back. 
... I never 'eard tell o' any glory that 'e 
coom by. 



ii] MILES DIXON 35 

JAN 

And was 'e a man like me? 

ELLEN 

As much as a beech-tree is like an elder-bush. 
. . . But a man . . . like you. 

JAN 

Then 'e zvas a man.^ 

ELLEN 

'Appen. . . . Ye'U 'ave yer money in yer bag.? 



And what'll ye do when 'tis all gone 



JAN 

Likes o' me don't live by money. . . . 'Tis like 
pretty things to play with. . . . 'E never 
'ad money, did 'e? 

ELLEN 

Never stick nor stock. 

[jAN pours the money from one hand to the 
other. 

JAN 

'Tis pretty. . . . Buttercups and daisies. . . . 
And won't tha just go rollin' and rollin'. 
. . . It'll be a grand man that cooms back 
to ye, moother, for if all t' world is full o' 
such blind fools as is 'ere there's nowt t' 
likes o' me canna do. 

ELLEN 

Ye'll learn. . . . Wise and strong and swift 
and sure ye may be, but . . . ye'll learn. 



36 MILES DIXON [act 

. . . T' blind fools Is many, and t' man wi' 
eyes to see Is one In thousands. It's many 
against one. 

JAN 

And If they get In my way . . . I'll set foot on 
'em. 

[j4 pedlar comes past the window^ a ragged 
man with pack on hack. He is weary and 
thin. He knocks at the door, and ellen 
opens. The pedlar stands in the door and 
begins to take his pack from his back. 
ELLEN knows him at once for miles 
DIXON, but she gives no sign. He stares 
intently at her, but gives no sign, jan is 
not particularly interested, but goes on 
counting out his money and playing 
with it across the table. 

MILES 

Good day to ye. 

ELLEN 

Good day to ye. 

MILES 

Can I show ye what I 'ave.? 

ELLEN 

Come In and show me. 

[miles comes in and lays his pack on the 
table. 

JAN 

Sixteen pounds. . . . Are ye come from t' world t 



ir] MILES DIXON 37 

MILES 

God knows v/here I be not come from, young 
master. 

JAN 

An' I be just goin' out into it. 

MILES 

Ye'd best bide 'ere. 

JAN 

So moother's sayin'; but she never 'ave seed 
what I see an' she never 'ave knowed what 
I know. . . . 

MILES 

And what like o' place d' ye think t' world to be, 
young master? 

JAN 

Just a great wide place wi' a city 'ere and a city 
there and room for a man that's growed too 
wide to live between fell and fell. . . . 

MILES 

[Fiercely.] 'Ave ye ever 'ad th' 'unger in yer 
belly, young master.^ 

JAN 

N-naw. 

MILES 

It's that ye'U 'ave in t' world. . . . 'Ave ye ever 
'ad th' 'unger i' yer soul, young master.? 

JAN 

N-naw. 



38 MILES DIXON [act 

MILES 

It's that ye'll 'ave in t' world, young master, an' 
ye'll be no more than a drop o' water in t' 
wide sea . . . and one man just Hke an- 
other. . . . And ye'll be sick for a bed to lie 
on, and sick for a fire to warm ye, and there'll 
be never a day but ye'll curse t' day ye ever 
set foot on t' road, and ye'll learn that ye 
can never turn back, and ye'll be brought to 
envy o' bird and beast and tree and 'ate o' 
men, for ye'll not find charity or kindness or 
any good in 'em once ye turn yer back on 
yer ain kin and kind . . . and so I tell ye. 

JAN 

Is it such a fearful place .^ 

MILES 

'Tis a place the like o' this, between fell and fell, 
and t' man that winna be shaped to it is 
broke. . . . For there's no place in this 
world where a man can be free, and freedom 
and t' great life and all t' things that come 
into a young man's thoughts wi' t' wind are 
not in t' world but in 'is 'eart. . . . What 
will ye buy.^ 

ELLEN 

[Choosing.] This and this and this. 

JAN 

'Ave ye a pretty thing for me to give to my 
moother before I go. . . . I've a great lot 
o' money. 



„] MILES DIXON 39 

MILES 

Ye've a mind to go? 

JAN 

Aye. . . . What's been done to t' likes o' you 
will never be done to t' likes o' me. 

MILES 

Are ye that strong.^ 

JAN 

And swift ... I can catch a rabbit wi' my 'ands. 

MILES 

Can ye run a 'undred miles in a day.? 

JAN 

N-naw. 

MILES 

Can ye leap every stream in t' country.? 

JAN 

N-naw. 

MILES 

Can ye wrastle wi' ten men all at once.? 

JAN 

N-naw. 

MILES 

Can ye talk wi' birds and beasts.? 

JAN 

N-naw. 

MILES 

Can ye pluck a star out o' 'eaven for to shine in 
a woman's 'air.? 



40 MILES DIXON [act 

JAN 

N-naw. 

MILES 

Nor me. . . . But there was a day when I could 
do every one o' these things. 

JAN 

An' you . . . 

MILES 

And off I went out into t' world greedy for t' 
sights and scents and sounds of it, and look 
at me what I am, just a ragged, broken man. 
. . . And I said that when I was weary I 
would swim out to sea until I could swim no 
more. When I was weary I did swim out, 
but back I coom to my weariness and took 
my pack on my back and come by a long, 
long road to see t' fells that wasna big enough 
for me and t' folk that was too small for me 
and too blind. . . . And what pretty thing 
will ye buy.^ 

JAN 

And you was a strong man and a wise man, an' 
a swift man, and a sure man.'' 

MILES 

I was. 

JAN 

And you was like a buzzard 'awk.^ 

[ellen has turned to her stewpan. 

MILES 

I was. 



ii] MILES DIXON 41 

JAN 

And was you Miles Dixon? 

MILES 

I was. 

[jAN dives into his pocket and brings up his 
money. 

JAN 

My feyther was a stronger man than you. [He 
takes up his cap and goes, turning at the door.] 
Moother, I be goin' down to croft. 

[He goes. 

ELLEN 

It's a 'ard life you've 'ad of it. . . . 

MILES 

Aye. 

ELLEN 

'Tis a 'ard life I've 'ad of it. 

MILES 

'E was a stronger man than me. . . . Was 'e 
bad to ye.? 

ELLEN 

Never. . . . And never again was your name on 
his lips, but there was never a day but t' 
thought o' you coom to 'im, and I was just 
a woman livin' in 'is 'ouse, and 'e 'ated t' 
sight o' that lad. ... Ye come last night.? 

MILES 

Aye. 



42 MILES DIXON [act 



ELLEN 

I'll 'ave this and this. 

[She takes money from her purse and pays 
him. 

MILES 

And 'im dead. . . . 

ELLEN 

And 'im dead, and me not loneHer than I was wi' 
'im in t' 'ouse. . . . And you.? 

MILES 

And me wi' no restin' place and a sick soul that 
will not let me bide; often 'unger i' my 
belly and always 'unger i' my soul for takin' 
you that never was mine. . . . And if there 
was never a day but t' thought o' me come 
between 'm and you, there was never a 
day but t' thought o' you come between me 
and t' world. . . . And if ye'd give me to 
eat. [ellen sets food and drink before him. 

ELLEN 

It come to me that there was nothin' int' world 
so dear to me as that lad, and 'im you've 
saved for me. 

MILES 

T' scorn 'e 'ad of me! 



ELLEN 

Will ye be goin' now.? 



ii] MILES DIXON 43 

MILES 

I'll live t' way I've lived these long years. [He 
shoulders his pack.] You're not t' woman 
that was so beautiful. . . . 

ELLEN 

And you're not t' man that coom to me out o' t' 
night, so fine and strong. . . . 

MILES 

We're queer cattle. 

[He goes out and through the yard, ellen 
returns to her work, janie comes and 
stands at the door. 

janie 
Why, moother, that's t' man that stood in t' 
dark last night and said they silly soft 
things. ... 

ELLEN 

See what I bought from 'im. 

janie 
Oh, t' pretty things. 

[ellen restores jan's money to the Toby 
jug in the press. 



CURTAIN 



Repertory 
Plays 



The plays in this group are intended for stage pro- 
duction and have satisfied highly critical and fastidious 
audiences. 

Some modern plays are good reading. That so 
many of the Repertory Plays gain, rather than lose, 
on the printed page is a tribute to their literary merit, 
style, and construction. 

Unless otherwise stated, the Repertory Plays are in 
one act. 

6x4 inches, wrappers, net 40 cents each. 

Baker, Elizabeth 

Miss Tassey 

Brighouse, Harold 
Converts 
Lonesome-Like 
Maid of France 
Price of Coal, The 

Calderon, George 

Fountain, The (three acts) 
Little Stone House, The 

Cannan, Gilbert 
James and John 
Mary's Wedding 
Miles Dixon (two acts) 
Short Way with Authors, A 

Chapin, Harold 

Augustus in Search of a Father 
Autocrat of the Coffee-Stall, The 
Dumb and the Blind, The 
Muddle Annie 

CoLQUHOUN, Donald 
Jean 



REPERTORY PLAYS 

Down, Oliphant 

Maker of Dreams, The 
Also in large paper edition, with incidental music 
by Beatrice Patterson. Cloth, $i.oo. 

Egerton, Lady Alex. 

Masque of the Two Strangers, The 

Everyman 

A morality play 

Ferguson, J. A. 

Campbell of Kihlmor 

GwEN, John 

Luck of War 
The Shepherd 

KONI, TORAHIKO 

Kanawa: The Incantation 

Maeterlinck, Maurice 
AUadine and Palomides 
Death of Tintagiles, The 
Interior 
Intruder, The 

Maxwell, W. B. 
The Last Man In 

Palmer, John 
Over the Hills 

Price, Graham 

Absolution of Bruce, The 

Capture of Wallace, The 

Coming of Fair Anne, The 

Marriages are Made in Heaven and Elsewhere 

Perfect Housekeeper, The 

Song of the Seal, The 

Published by LE ROY PHILLIPS, Boston 



GALLANT CASSIAN 

A Play in One Act 
By ARTHUR SCHNITZLER 

Translated from the third edition of the original by 
Adam L. Gowans. 

Bound in Cloth. Net 90 cents. 

To name the Author of this Play suggests much. 
He has made brilliant contributions to the more 
Modern Drama. The Translator has made a point of 
reading all of Schnitzler's Plays and holds the opinion 
that " Gallant Cassian " is his most distinctive work. 

There are but four characters — three male and one 
female. The dialogue between the Adventurer, 
Cassian, and his conceited Cousin Martin is intense. 
To show the effect of Cassian's gallantries on the mind 
and conduct of the infatuated Sophy is the author's 
intention. 

While intended for stage production, the play loses 
none of its brilliancy on the printed page. 



COLUMBINE 

A Fantasy in One Act and Other Verses 

By REGINALD ARKELL 

With some Drawings by Frederick Carter 

Paper wrappers. Net 75 cents. 

This pastoral drama is as clever and sentimental as 
its title suggests. Its wit, mingled with wisdom, 
adapts it for stage production as well as for reading. 
" Columbine " was first performed at Clavier Hall, Lon- 
don, in 191 1. Mr. Arkell's Fantasy has since been a 
special favorite with the amateur and semi-professional 
dramatic societies of England. There are five charac- 
ters. Four are male, but Columbine herself gives the 
Play a more than feminine touch. 

Published by LE ROY PHILLIPS, Boston 



BETWEEN SUNSET AND DAWN 

By HERMON OULD 
Paper wrappers. Net 75 cents. 
A play in four scenes of an East-end " doss-house," 
dealing with a runaway wife and her lover, and ending 
with a powerful climax. Produced at the Adelphi 
Theatre in 1912, this play, by a new writer, made a 
great impression and caused much discussion. 

THE WAY THE MONEY GOES 

By LADY BELL 

Paper wrappers. Net 75 cents. 
A play in three acts. The story of the simple-minded 
excellent woman caught by the wiles of the street 
" bookie " and the sneaking pedlar is humorous and 
also pathetic. 

THE FLASH-POINT 

By FLORIDA SCOTT-MAXWELL 

Paper wrappers. Net $1.00. 
A play in three acts. This is a comedy, or perhaps 
a tragi-comedy, of the struggle of Jean Barker against 
her mother, grandmother, and aunt. After attempt- 
ing to hold a public meeting unknown to them, she 
is accidentally locked in all night in the hall with 
Vernon, her fiance; and this produces the denouement 
of the play. 

THE WALDIES 

By GEORGE J. HAMLEN 

Paper wrappers. Net $1.00. 
This play in four acts was first performed by the 
Incorporated Stage Society at the Haymarket Theatre, 
London, in 1912. The spirited and brilliant dialogues 
make it conspicuous among the plays available for 
amateurs and professionals alike. 

Published by LE ROY PHILLIPS, Boston 



